Wounded
by troatie
Summary: I’m a complex person, and I’m prone to awful decission-making when I’m being Addison instead of Dr. Montgomery." - Addison thinks back on the last few years. There are mentions of Addek, Maddison, Addex and Paddison, but it's mostly just Addie. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer:** All these characters belong to Shonda. I only borrow them for fun.

**A/N:** I started writing this last summer, before Private practice started, and I left it unfinished in a folder in my computer until I found it last night and inspiration stroke when I read the prompt "Wounded" from a challenge. I hope you'll enjoy, let me know what you thought :)

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**Wounded**

"I make decisions every day. Important decisions. Decisions that save lives. Decisions that end them. I'm the best at my job. I always make the best decision. I never fail. People trust me with their lives, with their babies' lives, they put all they have in my hands and hope I will fix it. They trust me when I say I will fix it. And I can't remember the last time I made someone regret putting that trust on me. I am the best at making decisions to save people's lives. That's why no one understands how I can be so bad at making them to save my own.

Sometimes I wonder if we get a definite amount of good decision-making skills, and it's all about percentages. Ideally, we'd have 50 of that skill for our professional life, and the other 50 for our personal life. In my case, my professional life gets a 100. Which leaves my personal life completely unattended. If my theory is right, my life does actually make sense.

On the same day, I can save a baby's life and ruin mine. I can save a woman's life and push mine another step closer to complete failure. I can bring happiness to a family and drown myself in a pool of sadness. I'm a complex person, and I'm prone to awful decision-making when I'm being Addison instead of Dr. Montgomery. Dr. Montgomery. Addison Montgomery.

It's funny how life surprises you in little ways. How it goes against all logic just to let you know you are not in control. It's a fact that when you're used to something, it's hard to change it. Logic says if you've been doing something for 27 years, it should be harder to change that than something you've only been doing for 11 years. But life's great at kicking logic's ass. I was Addison Forbes Montgomery for 27 years. I added another name to the list, I became Addison Forbes Montgomery Shepherd, and it was surprisingly easy to get used to it. And after just 11 years, getting used to that name not being on the list is being harder than adding it. By far.

That's probably the first big mistake, right there. Shepherd, and all it represents. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't in love with Derek. He is the love of my life. But I'd also be lying if I said I didn't have my doubts. I'm a pragmatic person, I don't believe in love at first sight, soul mates or fairy tales. I believe in love as hard work. And I knew Derek was a soul mate person. He saw me, something clicked, and that was it for him. Fairytale romance, soul mates, love at first sight. I knew that. I should have known he wouldn't think working and fighting for it would be an issue. Because we were Derek and Addison, perfect couple, period.

You don't see Cinderella and Prince Charming sitting down and talking about what's wrong in their relationship. You don't see Belle and The Beast fighting over whose fault it is that they barely see each other. You don't see stubborness and fighting and screaming and unhappiness in fairy tales. If you see your life as a fairytale, you don't expect hard work and fights. You expect cupid to come and strike you with an arrow of love and make it all better. You expect a kiss to fix everything. True love, and all that. When you're a pragmatic person, being with a romantic man can drive you insane.

So, why did I say yes to that second date? Why did I say yes to his proposal? I knew it wouldn't be easy. And yet I said yes. If I'd kept record, I'm sure the day I agreed to go out with him again I saved a woman's pregnancy. And the day I said yes, I probably saved a baby's life. Because there's the balance. It's all about percentages. One bad decision in my personal life, one good decision in my professional life. It's always been like that.

I'm not trying to say I ever regretted marrying Derek. The happy times we shared were the happiest I've ever been. Was it worth it? Definitely. But it still hurts. When you fight for yourself, by yourself, it can be exhausting. When you fight for both of you, by yourself, you break. It's that simple. It's fighting with all you have in yourself to make it work, and seeing the other half of the relationship do nothing and wait for love to do its magic. It's knowing, even when he doesn't, that when you think love can come from one single look, you're saying it can go away just as easily. And so it did.

Derek Shepard, love of my life, broke me. Unintentionally, but he broke me. And me, with my percentages, allowed him to do it. I could have ended it before that night. I could have told him I was tired of fighting for us while he waited for Cupid. I could have been the bigger person. But, instead of doing that, I let myself become the dirty adulterous bitch. Of course, I did save those triplets before I went home that night.

I'm not trying to say it wasn't my fault. It was my fault. It takes two to tango, and having sex with Mark was hardly unintentional on my part. I messed up, yet again, and I suffered the consequences. And, as stupid as it sounds, the thing that bothers me the most about all this is the fact that I've never gotten a chance to explain. To really explain. To tell someone how I hurt more than he ever did. It's selfish, but it's the truth. Romantic people never hurt as much as us pragmatics do.

Derek hurt for a while, because his soul mate slept with his best friend, and his fairytale was destroyed. But, when love comes from a single look, it goes away just as easily. It's easier to get over it when you think you have absolutely no control over it. It's easier to get over it when you can blame fate, or destiny or Cupid. When you've put yourself out there day after day, fighting for it, working for it, willing to give your life for it... then, that's another story. Because, then, when it fails, you don't get a choice between blaming fate, destiny or Cupid. You get a choice between blaming yourself, or accepting he let it die. And I never accepted that. So I slept with Mark, so there would be no choice to make. It was my fault. Derek was in love with me. I was the one who messed up.

Of course he walked away that night. Why wouldn't he? When you fail an exam that you barely studied for, you go home and feel depressed. When you fail an exam that you studied as hard as possible for, you stick around until the professor agrees to double, triple or quadruple-check. Because accepting fate was not on your side is much easier than accepting you killed yourself fighting and it still was not enough.

Staying with Mark was another bad decision. I loved him, but I wasn't in love with him. You can only be in love with one person at once, and I was still in love with Derek. Why did I stay? Because I felt like it. Because I was tired of fighting. Because I knew Mark, and I knew there was no chance I'd be the adulterous bitch in that relationship. I didn't have to fight, I didn't want to fight. It was calm, smooth and uncomplicated. I knew it wasn't going to be forever. We both knew. That's what made it so good while it lasted.

When I found him in bed with that other woman, I walked away. The irony. The blinding pain when I realized Derek's reaction after I, his wife, cheated on him was the same reaction I had after Mark, my dirty mistress, cheated on me. I meant as much to him as Mark meant to me. I had to stop walking to catch my breath. It physically hurt me to realize the extent of his indifference. The shallowness of fairytale romances. The lack of depth of a relationship built on love at first sight.

And so Richard called, and I told him I'd think about his offer. And, right after I signed the discharge form for the micropreemie who'd miraculously pulled through, I bought my tickets to Seattle. Against my own advice, I was going back to him. Because I was still in love with him. My love for Derek was built on over 15 years of hard work. 15 years of getting to know every little thing about him. 15 years of giving myself to him. He still had me. I wanted myself back.

Seeing him with another woman was, surprisingly enough, not as painful as I thought it would be. Probably because, while it killed me to think how fragile and shallow his love for me was, I knew it was the same kind of love she was getting from him. I bet they were soul mates. I bet everyone envied them. I bet everyone knew they were destined to be together. I hoped she wasn't a romantic. Because, if she was, they'd be together forever.

Meredith Grey was a nice girl. Very anti-Addison, but I wasn't serious when I told Derek. I knew he didn't go looking for the anti-me. I knew he'd never go looking for anything. I knew that, if I asked, he'd tell me it just happened. Something clicked. It was love at first sight. Just like me. Except shinier, newer, still not worn out by routine and lack of surprises. Honestly, I couldn't blame him.

The thing is, I knew my husband. I worked hard at getting to know him, and I knew him better than he did. I knew he'd stay with me. I knew he'd give us a shot. A half-assed joke of a shot, but still, I knew he would. And I knew it would never pass. Meredith did nothing to shatter his fairytale. As far as he was concerned, she was still his damsel in distress, still his to save, and love, and cherish. Pragmatic people don't understand how a few months of a fling can compete with 11 years of marriage. Pragmatic people don't want to believe that, for a romantic person, time doesn't have anything to do with love. Love is love is love. A day, a month, a year or a lifetime, it doesn't matter. Romantic love doesn't evolve. Its intensity doesn't change with time. It never grows or shrinks. One day it's there, the next it's not.

So we gave it a shot. I went back to fighting while Derek waited for it to pass. I had hundreds of opportunities to end it. When he told me he was in love with her. When he looked absently at the ceiling after sex. When he kept sharing elevators with her. When he stood me up on Thanksgiving. But I didn't. And I kept saving lives and being the best at my job.

Mark came to Seattle looking for me. He said he was in love with me, and he stated the obvious when he said Derek didn't love me. And yet, the slap on my face didn't come until I thought about it, later on. Months later. Derek punched Mark. Derek punched Mark, because he was talking to his damsel in distress, and he went all knight in the shining armour on the big bad meanie. He didn't walk away. He fought. He fought for her. That punch, right there? That was more than he ever did for our marriage. Maybe his romanticism wasn't the only problem. Maybe I wasn't the love of his life, after all.

Why did I let him break me? Why did I stay with him when he was hurting me everyday? Why did I keep coming back for more after his cold stares, hurtful comments and spiteful remarks? Because I was head over heels in love with my husband. Because he made me, me. Because thinking about leaving him was like thinking about amputating my own arm. I needed him. I was addicted to him. To the idea of us. I wanted Derek and Addison back.

I'm an intelligent woman, I knew my husband was still in love with Meredith. And, thanks to me, it wasn't just a love at first sight kind of love. I was an obstacle on their path. I turned her into the forbidden fruit, and made her even more irresistible for Derek. I gave them their fairytale. Did I know he'd cheat on me? Not really, no. I thought he'd let me do the dirty work for him and leave or cheat again. But – surprisingly enough – he did do something about it. He fought for her, yet again.

I like to say that was what turned me into the distorted image of myself I became after I found Grey's panties in his pocket. Truthfully, though, I'm not sure that was it. I just like to have a reason for it. I like being able to say "Remember that time when I had to hide in a closet to cry in the middle of the day? I was devastated after my divorce." It makes people tilt their heads in sympathy instead of wondering if you've finally lost your marbles. And it's not a lie, either. I was devastated. Of course I was.

Devastated enough to get into an even bigger mess with Mark, beg Richard for a job and screw one of the interns? Probably not. But people don't ask questions when you say you missed your husband, and I repeated it so many times that I guess I ended up believing it myself. And I don't think I want to know if there was some other reason. I'd rather think I loved so deeply I didn't quite know how to go back to the surface when it was over. It sounds better. It feels better.

I haven't forgotten about my percentages, by the way. All those months, with the awful personal choices? I don't think I lost a single patient back then. The OR was the only place where I still trusted myself. Sometimes I wonder if I wouldn't be happier being an average surgeon and having an average life instead of being the best surgeon and living a life that gets more and more messed up as years go by. Probably not. At least I'm the best at something, even if it's not at living my life. But that probably doesn't make sense.

I almost made it work with Mark. Almost. I didn't want to, really. I think, deep down, I didn't want to make it work with anyone. I still wanted Derek. The old Derek, I mean. The one who'd give me picket fences, barbeques, kids and all the perfect family package. The Derek I married. He was the love of my life. He will always be, probably. And I'm still in love with that Derek, even though he doesn't exist anymore. And Mark will never be that Derek, so I screwed up, because that's what I do. The baby I delivered the day I finally lost Mark and screwed Karev in an on-call room was a healthy baby girl, against all odds. But then again, I am the best. Professionally, I mean.

As for Karev... I don't know. Sometimes I think I was doing a stupid thing. Sometimes, I think we were too similar to work. Both putting up a strong, confident exterior, and both scared out of our minds. Pushing each other away, in two different ways. He went with the honest way. More hurtful, but honest nonetheless. Just like him. And I, going back to old habits, told him I was interested when deep down I knew it wasn't going to work out. Because, you know, it feels good to say you've tried. I tried to make it work, but it didn't, because he didn't want a serious relationship. That's better than staying alone and divorced because you're still in love with the man your husband was when you married him. Because that – the truth – is nothing short of pathetic.

And then the day came when I looked around me and realized there was nothing else for me there. I'd pushed Mark away. Derek was with Meredith. Karev was still Karev. Richard didn't give me the job. So I decided I needed a change. I toyed with the idea of going back to Manhattan, but it wasn't home anymore, and there were too memories there. So I came here. New city, new job, old friends and potential new ones. Moving to Los Angeles was one of the best decisions I've ever made. Personally. Professionally, I left my job as the head of neonatal at the foremost neonatal hospital west of Manhattan for a spot as an OB/GYN at a small practice in Los Angeles. I'd say that counts for the balance.

The thing with Pete was... a bad choice, I guess. Maybe it was too soon. Maybe I set myself up for failure from the beginning. Maybe I should have waited until we got to know each other better, so it wouldn't feel as a fling. Because it feel like one. And, no matter how many times I told him I wasn't playing around, the truth is I was. People who make out in exam rooms aren't exactly thinking about marriage and children, are they? Maybe I was, but not with Pete. I'm not stupid enough for that. But I thought that maybe, someday, we would get to that point. Maybe we still will. I don't know.

And then there's Kevin. Kevin, who is absolutely perfect so far. He's not a workaholic, he's not pathologically self-destructive, he's not emotionally unavailable, and he's not against commitment. We went on a date the other day, and it was – not surprisingly – perfect. We had fun, we talked, he drove me home, he didn't try to get in my pants and we agreed to repeat some time. But I'm not sure about that. I'm just... not sure.

It's scary, you know? To think that, if it doesn't work out with Kevin, it will be my fault. I'm the one with the baggage, the one with the emotional issues that come with all that baggage. He is perfect. If something fails, it'll be me. No blaming his lack of interest, his cheating, his brutal honesty or his commitment phobia. I'd just have myself to blame. And that's scary. Especially now that I don't have my percentages. Now that I don't save lives on a daily basis and I only hold a scalpel a handful of times a year, I can't blame my percentages for everything that happens in my personal life. I make less important choices at work, and I should make smaller mistakes in my life, right? It makes sense to me.

And that's why I'm scared."

"And that's why you're here?"

"I'm here because Nae physically dragged me here. You already know that, Violet."

"All right, let me rephrase that. And that's why you've told me all that?"

"I told you so you could help me. I thought that was the whole point of forcing me to come."

"Do you think you need help?"

"No."

"Then why did you tell me all that?"

"Because I needed to tell someone, and you're legally forced to keep the secret. Can I go now?"

"I never forced you to stay. You can leave whenever you want."

"Don't use your shrink methods on me, Violet."

"You didn't tell me all this over a glass of wine at your place. You told me in my office, and you want me to treat you like any other patient and keep your secrets. I will shrink-method you if I want to."

"Okay, I'm leaving now."

"All right."

"Violet? Do you think I need help?"

"Do you think you need help?"

"Do you think I'm damaged?"

"No. I think you're wounded."

"What's the difference?"

"Damaged implies a loss of value. Damaged is negative. You can heal a wound."

"Thank you."

"It's my job."

"When can I come back?"

"Whenever you want. Do you think you need help?"

"Tomorrow at four."

"You didn't answer my question, Addison."

"I think I need to heal."

"I'll see you tomorrow at four."


End file.
